


You Break It, You Buy It

by editingatwork



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, get-together, hockey injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: tumblr prompt: Patater + first kiss.Kent breaks Tater's nose during a game. Later, he gets kissed.





	

It’s Kent’s stick that breaks Tater’s nose. He goes for a slapshot and ends up cracking the Falconers d-man across the face.

After the game, and then the post-game interview in the locker room, he texts Jack with an apology. Jack replies that his teammate is fine, the doctors gave Tater local anesthesia and put the bones back in place. Tater will be scratched for a week to give his nose time to heal, and then he’ll be back in the game.

Kent goes out for dinner and drinks with his teammates afterwards. Providence isn’t a big town, so it’s kind of not a surprise to see Tater and the Falc’s goalie, Snowy, at the restaurant’s bar.

He excuses himself from the Aces’ table and heads over. Tater sees him coming and starts to smile, but then winces.

“That looks bad,” Kent says, because it does. Tater’s left eye is bruised and so is all the skin around his nose, which has been splinted up with a plastic cast. “Sorry, man. I didn’t see you behind me.”

“Is okay,” Tater says. He’s being careful not to move more facial muscles than absolutely necessary. “Had worse.”

“Hurts like a bitch, though, right?”

“Only when I smile.”

At Tater’s left, Snowy snorts. “So, all the fuckin’ time, then.”

“I am friendly guy,” Tater says. “People like people who smile. Is why everyone think you’re scary, Snowy.”

“No, everyone thinks I’m scary because I fucking  _am_ scary.”

Kent thinks Snowy might be a little drunk. “Let me get you a drink,” Kent says to Tater. “To apologize for fucking up your face.”

Tater’s eyes crinkle and his mouth turns up a little. “I would say okay, but I’m taking medicine for pain. Can’t mix with alcohol.” He holds up his drink. “Virgin screwdriver.”

Kent laughs.

“Can buy me new one,” Tater says. And before Kent can protest that the glass is half full, Tater gingerly tips his head back and gulps down the orange juice. “See? My glass is empty.”

Kent hears Snowy grumble, “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick,” and pull out his wallet. “I’m going home, Tater.”

“But you just get here.”

“And yet, here I am, going home.” Snowy slides off the stool and waves for a bartender until someone comes up to close his tab. Once his card is back in his wallet, Snowy salutes them and heads off.

“Still going to buy me new drink?” Tater asks. “If you want go back to your team, it’s okay.”

Kent looks back across the restaurant, where the Aces--or some of them, at least--are crammed into a large booth and shooting the shit over half-finished beers. Turning back to Tater, he says, “We already finished dinner. I’ve got time.” He seats himself at the bar and yanks his wallet from his pocket. “What are you in the mood for? Virgin vodka cranberry? Virgin Long Island iced tea? Virgin Jack and coke?”

Tater laughs--or tries to. He starts, then winces and quiets the laugh to a chuckle. “Virgin Jack and coke, please.”

Kent orders a glass of Coca-Cola and gets a Jack Daniels whiskey on the rocks for himself. Tater snickers and they clink their glasses before drinking.

“Where you play next?” Tater asks.

“Detroit. You?”

“Home game again, against Chicago.”

“Aw, damn. You’re gonna miss that, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m very disappoint. Have my eye on some players that might get rough with teammates. I’m miss chance to pay them back.”

“Well, there’s always the next game.”

“True.” Tater drinks his coke. He asked for a straw and he’s sipping through it delicately. It’s kind of adorable. “You fly to Detroit or take bus?”

“Flying, thank God. There’s only so many times I can watch reruns of Chopped before I start hearing Zakarian critiquing my choice of potato chips.”

Tater nods. “I’m still not understand why he wasn’t contestant in All Stars episodes. Would have been hilarity.”

“Fuck, yes, thank you! Swoops keeps trying to tell he was better as a judge, but like, tell me you don’t wanna see that guy throw down in the kitchen.”

And somehow, it’s that easy. They talk, they devour a bowl of pretzels, Kent gets another whiskey and Tater finishes his coke. The Aces stop by before they leave, offering sympathy for Tater’s injury and chirps to Kent for giving it to him.

Swoops elbows Kent on his way out and says, “You break it, you buy it, huh?”

“What?” Kent says, but Swoops leaves without clarifying.

Tater smiles after the departing Aces. “I like your team.”

“Heh. Me, too.”

They don’t stay much later. Kent’s got a flight to catch tomorrow morning and Tater has practice, even though he can’t do much during it because it’s too big a risk to have him careening around a rink while the delicate bones in his nose heal.

“I really am sorry about the nose thing,” Kent says as they pull on their coats and head outside. It’s early November and the temperatures are freezing. Kent’s used to it, though. Nevada is warmer during the day, but about the same at night. It gets cold in the desert, after dark. “Guess I’ll have to keep a better eye out for you on the ice.”

“Yes,” Tater agrees. “Please watch for me on ice.”

And that—there’s a vibe, there. Kent hears it, but he’s not sure what it is, so he turns, and in the glow of the restaurant’s neon signs, he thinks he sees a little bit of pink on Tater’s cheeks. The half-smile lidded gaze could mean anything, but Kent thinks it looks…shy.

“I will,” he says. He grins like Christmas come early, and adds, “Take care of that nose.” And because he’s a little drunk, he reaches out and touches the tip of Tater’s nose with his finger. Feather-light, not a hint of pressure. “Get back on the ice as soon as you can, so I can see you out there.”

Tater’s eyes have gone wide. Abruptly he takes Kent by the lapels of his coat, and walks himself backwards until his back bumps the side of the building. Kent comes along willingly. It’s darker here, not private but not as public as being in the light, and Kent tips his chin up to meet Tater when the other man leans down.

 _Jack and coke_ , Kent thinks, and nearly giggles against Tater’s mouth. He lets himself be kissed—relishes being kissed, in fact. Tater goes at it slow but he makes it so hot, makes the rub of lips on lips into something electric that Kent feels all the way down to his toes. It lasts for ten glorious seconds, during which Kent’s heart performs acrobatics and his lungs cease to function, and then Tater turns his head to kiss him more deeply and yelps in pain.

Tater jerks back, hands cupping protectively over his nose and both eyes squeezed shut. “Think I’m need more pain meds before I kiss you more,” he grumbles through his fingers. “Sorry.”

Kent, mouth tingling and cheeks burning, cracks up. “Oh god, don’t be. I did this to myself.”

Tater huffs a soft laugh. “Yes. But, I have medicines at my apartment,” he says pointedly. “Can take more when I get home.”

It’s an offer. Or an invitation, or whatever. _Come home with me, I’ll take my meds, and then I’ll kiss you more_. Tater’s on a rival team, but that doesn’t mean much. Guys in their profession take their friends—and their fuck-buddies—where they can.

Kent would like to kiss Tater more. He’d like to _be_ kissed more, a lot more, and by Tater specifically. He liked it when Tater pulled him along to the wall, and he thinks he’d like more of the same on Tater’s sofa, or—God willing—in Tater’s bed.

But Kent finds himself shuffling and hesitating and not giving the ready, eager “Yes!” he thinks he feels.

What he says is, “My flight’s really early. I need to get back to my hotel.”

Tater nods, smiles, and says, “Okay. Have safe flight.”

Tater thinks Kent’s turning him down. He can’t leave it like this. “Can I get your phone number, though? We can text,” he says. “And maybe next time I’m in Providence, and your nose is less fucked up, we can do this again?”

Tater’s smile grows. “Or next time I’m in Vegas?”

“If you want,” Kent says, and then outright blurts, “I like you. Tonight was good. It was really good. And I would go home with you, I would, but…I don’t know.” He shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, and meets Tater’s curious gaze. “I do _everything_ fast. Doesn’t make it the right choice, though. It’s not always good for me.”

“I understand. We go slow.” His eyes crinkle at the edges again, a subtle smile that Kent is quickly becoming enamored with. “I be good for you, Kent Parson.”

Kent nearly chokes on his tongue. Heat washes through him, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or pull his coat over his crotch. He settles for slapping a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe you.” Digging out his phone, he focuses on the screen instead of Tater’s face. “Give me your damn phone number.”

They part without further kisses, but the single one Kent got still tingles on his lips. Tater waves after Kent’s taxi as it drives away. Kent waves back and then sinks down in his seat.

His phone chimes with an incoming text.

_My mouth is taste like whiskey._

Kent bites his lip and presses his face into the cool glass of the window for a second before texting back.

**Mine tastes like coke.**

He’s grinning. He’s so glad he didn’t go home with Tater, because now he’s going to be on his own for the next few weeks and he’s going to get to savor this. He’ll get to cling to the memory of Tater’s mouth on his, to every word they exchanged at the bar, to every text he gets in the meantime. Instead of burning everything out in one night, he’s going to smolder.

Kent’s phone chimes again.

 _Today’s kiss is too short. Next time, first kiss will be better_.

**I can’t wait.**

**Author's Note:**

> Ten hours later, Kent sits straight up in his airplane seat, groans loud enough that it echoes off the walls, and puts his face in his hands.  
> Next to him, Finch says, "Er, Parse? You okay?"  
> Kent just mumbles, "'You break it, you buy it.' I broke him, and now I think I've bought him." Then he slumps down in his seat, still covering his face. "Fuck Swoops."  
> "Okay," says Finch, and puts his headphones back in.
> 
> join me in patater hell on[ tumblr](http://punmasterkentparson.tumblr.com/).


End file.
